















1 














John P. MartDn & Go,, Louisville, 
1B94. 


C a p y ri 3 hf ■ d 1 a E 4, 

By Dauslass Sherley, 





Or is it some one less strong, less 
noble, who has her Love, although 
he be unworthy of it? 

And does Duty bid her make de¬ 
nial, even though it break her loving 
heart? 

Is it Regret, Duty, Love, or What? 

But still she gives no answer. And 
the Youth of the Town is still hoping, 
doubting, fearing. 

Ah, my sweet, sad-eyed Lady, what 
will your answer be ? 

J 

Shsrley Place, 

E aster-tide, 1B04, 


XXili 


ti iwtj tod: svaifsd o 1 ndiraoo terns 
moil sirin') yficn ir ,oM ad * r - rod 
970 J gi 070 J 1 to 3c C!9« K 

l r ri v joo \ud 

/, /isb ot ’(lid: od v ri : i; ;/ Im.'i 

ggnol bwoT orij 'o rfiDo/ 3rd ad 

.wonom od '*■ » :>rii ico or f red 
rlliw iOii o }no; bros rMo iw u O' 
•bfo omoa mod sozoi n 7. on?. > orl) 
{ roilol f*i 9 voJ rid f n9bisg rrnli 
fio\ *ie>H ni gnibioif ai ;)a sda cbh.w 
-jo *) 1 >fir;; f; Igrb r.ii,';; *>io f bnB.ri 
noha Jp gifb oo.- 1 ; .<& f < id // \ guoi 

)o soob odg rr)0 l•// o,i ;m gnorta 

c . muow o) riaiv, i m ^ j«- b ly/ , >/o( 





sweet comfort to believe that even if 
her answer be No, it may come from 
a sense of Duty. Love is Love 
always, but not so with Duty. For 
that which may be Duty to-day may 
not be Duty on the morrow. 

So the Youth of the Town longs 
for the coming of the morrow. 

Who wrote, and sent to her with 
those sweet red roses from some old- 
time garden, this, his Lovers letter, 
which she still is holding in her left 
hand, once again just a trifle tremu¬ 
lous? Who has asked this question 
of a woman’s heart? Is he a man 
strong and noble, whom she does not 
love, yet does not wish to wound ? 


XXII 


Ifr/.'OVg Sv* * 7 3 h H J l£e «U0*briOW 

i ! iio or 7/ b n >li Uri --.A oiiw ono vino ai 

. p . 5 \o rijna jvsrl 
;2 iholuja lo or* bo)ft K lebtnfc Army/ 
i< p.o , o fb< olni f:v/c b q.-oh * ool ol 
- !•; f( fi j \. I cwu Off i 

i> A or!a Iblorbd ,//on Jud ;hi r u -om 
. y;:,-07v ai ore bn/ ,n£ oriov/ lx/birsob 
sifted ,‘gool orb rbiv y sow os/) 

orb fi ^o ; -o c * f'liv; >i/>ria >n£ 


IXX 



it kisses the utmost tip of her perfect 
little ear. How deep, tender, and 
wondrous sad those eyes have grown! 
Down in their dark depths her very 
soul seems to tremble into sight. It 
is only one who has suffered who can 
have such eyes. And, in truth, it is 
worth almost a lifetime of suffering 
to look deep down into such eyes of 
sad beauty. She was but a pretty¬ 
faced girl; but now, behold! she is a 
beautiful woman. And she is weary, 
O, so weary with the long, hard battle 
within. 

But Fear and Doubt still dwell 
and share with Hope a place in the 
heart of the Youth. He finds it 


XX! 


t 30n S' -orri'oio s*tkcI g lii<i - 

, 3 *!'>rn ^fijs wobfitl£ 
i nwc y lufflv/ {M; '• 

- ?T .luVdUBDff baj gr.bvoft - ^ocl 
,orn•;< L Ho biung o »1 Jng.jfh 
to buaic >nc vturod *1 ff *io b r cn [ 
r'i ' r -oj <ia;. / lor «v. Jii jioniv *t. * 
>bh-i3jauH orft lo j«im gaimom 9 
o“» *gaib iBfii 9 DbI '{inbb odt nisg/ 
>d:i-vjwofi. bnr oiuVn f^onob V 

biiii 7 n£/ro ewo^g m£ nsJiog ,100’trJ 
jaoi bidd o:ii mail ,o> ; / 

.og£ slid r jb lo noh ;siIbi«vio 
Audi *noin (bifid ?\ s^£ ; n figA 
ybv:£ b^Lfii • d ioIod qt»ob i>rfT *;q 
bn* .30 it di 3 'b‘ f M= >' fi Jtfd 
I tnu itio fc9*bfien rfoiri^ r >gnij ( ? niq £ 



is but a bare outline—a shade, not a 
Shadow any more. 

Again the pretty white gown is 
loose - flowing and beautiful. The 
thought of the grand old Dame, 
proud of her beauty and proud of 
her ancient coronet, vanishes with 
the morning mist of the Easter-tide. 
Again the dainty lace that clings to 
her slender white and flower - like 
throat, softens and grows creamy and 
weblike, free from the bleachment 
and crystallization of a while ago. 
Again the face is barely more than 
pale. The deep color has faded away, 
leaving but a faint, delicate trace, and 
a pinky tinge which reaches out until 


XX 


dgnarta c ?j tr\s 'liirga 

io v -aJ /u 7 f!:hw 
-"u'. : ;;bo n > ’ ’■ 

\ lloqa 'r am »r r J I >rl obit - *ojJrk f 
/rof ■{ osa ot roar.'b ortv; o >rl 
\ 0 / ! ' .o^i'un)- 1 ; / rmii bnK Ji oJon 

. red ed Iliw J putmi \r rj >: 

'jfodo u v.n Off* 
o o ) f j< J pi uifiiiuo no :>:'p 
io {qmo o trl^i 1 o : 

;: V; ’ Ojtti o. Not} Of! i . > l.’J • ib 

riioom Ijj re o/b luocf.fi bm oi v/obfi ; i;2 




CfKUT again there is a change 
with my Lady of the Picture. 
Does the heart of the advancing 
Easter-tide hold the magic spell? 
Those who chance to see her now 
note it, and think it strange. “No,” 
they murmur, “will be her answer. 
But it is her Duty that bids her. and 
she must obey.” 

The silken curtain is torn down 
and the light of day completes the 
triple story of this, my Lady of the 
Picture. The cold glitter is gone 
from about the eyes, and the old 
soft light has returned, and yet it is 
not the same as of old. The fatal 
Shadow round about the sweet mouth 


XIX 


r > > 7 / C*f > .iJ :■ v S' : I ) 

*>rir k) wobaiw-qo/ld 
[J' v ion .3 n .d I .v/or 3i ■ ! 
o) intern r,: .. j o/oJ li r e» 1 

flV OT' , b>if{ 0 't> : 1 >*! 0379 I LTD 7 >;b 

orb 3'jodr. ini ?,#i wobcr ci ;• bm b o3 
8£ £gnfr;t rl:: ua trr.'J . v.iu-m jjjjv/i 
£ o jifio.d o . '7 [fiifub o ' on oarii 
►070. ; £ "to 3 «»■>• orlt o;‘ .s . A iiovoJ 
sue 7) j'BDrl ]j o Ion hjo o^skra 
oi *ii 1 o -i oiO;J' : vol oriv. 

jon n£D or ki^do'.} / .ovoJ 

7Jvl lr 070. 77 ]; i 'Jr.'U JOO jloodo 




The Youth had loved the face 
when first he saw it in the crowded 
shop-window of the Town. So did 
he love it now. Change can not kill 
Love, if Love it be. What matter to 
the Youth even if the eye had grown 
cold and a Shadow rested about the 
sweet mouth? Can such things as 
these make denial to the heart of a 
Lover? Aye, to the heart of a Love- 
maker, but not to the heart of one 
who loves. There is no limit to 
Love. A thousand nays can not 
check its course if true Love it be. 


XVIII 


as moo 3 bit -1 stefiU hi i ri i H H 
,-isoofj < .aasrddjjhd >l\ riiiw 
si'j lo (bfiJ v ' r>v —*. ?qoH bms 
)Bfb llij8 .bs^rifirb ion ?,&/! f/misih. 
-siq b'-lg ;boof Haskins.si sncusa 
;bhv 1: [ 'ft o'/ s V nob morn 

'-.Oil •->: bnnb tisi ur a:i 

briB ,nsq srii bnfid irfgh idil nr Hite 
-.. : ■ ri . m ■ - |i i 

.blOW £ lo 

giool -fcSiinsiin orifi .nwoii iuU 
tnBnmsi nth i:hjri o 4 itfq ion svfid 
jbuoV 30 * 1 < ?••'-• H ilJ sq »U b> 

bfuorie v 7 .siuio q fi vino at i w 

biBa sr( " f . sfcfuod f 
YWffl bm» t >vx,s cm ab'ioVi h.rb 

is//anfi ,)i bifid ■/•■■ anoitesuo 



IIVX 



third Easter-tide comes 
with its brightness, its flowers, 
and its Hopes—yet my Lady of the 
Picture has not changed. Still that 
same relentless look; still that pre¬ 
monition of a No not yet said; still 
in her left hand she holds the letter; 
still in her right hand the pen, and 
the page beneath it is yet guiltless 
of a word. 

But frowns and relentless looks 
have not put to flight the remnant 
of Hope in the heart of the Youth. 
“ B is only a picture. Why should 
I trouble?” he said. 

But words are easy, and many 
questions are hard to answer. 


XVII 









4 5 ft ■ ' fi f' £ ’ ?• 


wr ' ; , ■ .. . ■ 











had shed an unextinguished light 
throughout many years. It was a 
holy thing; so the Youth had thought 
it worthy of a place before the deep- 
set Picture of the chimney-piece— 
the shrine of his hearts treasure. 
Thus awakened out of troubled sleep, 
he often rose and stood before the 
covered Picture, beneath the swing¬ 
ing red light brought—stolen, per¬ 
haps—from the sacred sanctuary of 
that ancient church down in the 
land of Mexico. Often, with Hope, 
Doubt, and Fear in his heart, he 
would turn away from before the un¬ 
touched curtain. “ Useless, useless, 
useless,” would be the burden of his 
thought. 


XVI 


:h;t . f f \ s i - ; r, 

./‘i if f.u ; r>. ! 

.gfciow oj;’>■■,<» a J lt>s va 

Lite ni b$>f,ew net j triL t '(d re* a 
v •• ' ; hn d ml jn 

r.orli n.fjjjic !>i r i note [ >Uoj 

h jinr:« ■ )irlv/ -iV b r< ,m: o ; 

B rr// jl .} no t: bn • if, 
bn ; ii.fi > :>3 « } 

•*f£ isJh; vied ■ .-d l bed ji 


sary, and more pleasant, indeed, even 
when hard, cold, and unkind, than 
other faces not less beautiful smiling 

sweet unspoken words. 

He slept in a curtained space 
near by, and often waked in the still 
watches of the after-midnight, with 
the Hope in his heart, flaring up 
into a flame and burning him with 
a desire for another sight of that 
fickle face. Before the picture there 
hung a dim, red light, which burned 
all the night long. It was a swing¬ 
ing lamp of many tangled chains and 
fretted Venetian metal work. Once 
it had swung before an holy altar in 
an ancient Mexican town, where it 


XV 


. 








. 



clung against and hid away the face 
of this Changeful Lady. 

But no sooner was the curtain 
drawn, hiding from sight the lovely 
and beloved face, but an all-powerful 
desire brought him back again, and 
lo! the curtain was rudely thrust 

•f 

aside; but alas! there was no change. 

When away from his room and the 
siren-like face behind its silken folds 
of crimson, he fretted to return and 
look again for a change wrought out 
by his brief absence; but there was 
none. 

Hateful indeed the sight may have 
been of that changeful face, but it 
had grown to him absolutely neces- 


XIV 


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■ ■ t< - J ) r • ■ , 

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'&• G b-no > 3f ! i m- :.o 

% 

< O f *if> I ^fiifciorf ,bn i ,„rr 

- m i : }i -v r b b . b 

f i:*v{ o;{ iijorls i a. } £>«*-.; m;rf 

. , : : : ’ • 
ot • ioi ; .^8 i )ii - -hob, nf .b / 
b>d jr iirw iidv/'-i'iw-nc 
ro iiid ti:n rfauo >fd to ju 

utylz ?Jd err ; ' nwovi !> r ■ 




the face—barely more than pale—with 
a deep color and a glow of emotion 
only half concealed. Ah, was it a look 
of triumph? was it the consciousness 
of power? 

The left hand, holding her Lovers 
letter, had lost its somewhat tremu¬ 
lous look. The fingers of the other 
hand had tightened about the pen, 
hovering over that unwritten page. 
And, in short, she seemed ready to 
write the answer—what will it be? 
The heart of the Youth was full of 
Trouble. Hope flickered up into an 
uncertain existence. Now the Pict¬ 
ure had grown hateful to his sight; 
so a silken curtain, in crimson folds, 


XIII 



teO'-liifi ^ 'f'B hi00 f “Jljilj; £ yjT:- 0V£ti Oj 
--‘£u bi { v/obcrfr! i- bh >ri‘ \ dob.no 
'.•fi’Vjs fi-fot idfits.tjolis n tub , j,i/ 
‘J- f -ci*u i-ta * > > srblo vJirr^d or? 

r^ni oorirhifte bns r o3£i | -aso ah ., *>1 
vfno til Ui'rsui ban -h 1 ja-.h ■ 

0 'T«!'h ; io bnsig 9mos lo m( i hi lot 
io;l ••■> broiq bru ftuuod i:; h o hr , tq 
b^odfii sofii vrov 9f r I Jorro'foo r ■■, n 
( , /J-.im K tJ d—?*.• \ • ■■> - 

: m .&>■■ — 'ho •/ T*fif : - b o 

r u J> >.i oihv i>ax» bos- 
-*irij kiifpla brre caeda c fib-// oaob b 
»dt Inode >qnh yj.arq 
: o.» i h.;»n k -.•••!; berf * se tji: 1 vS': ■ h ■ 
y& n [aiovo be do dw ,oi;rt vao*i atom 





to have crept a glitter, cold and almost 
unfeeling. The fatal Shadow had har¬ 
dened, but not altogether stolen away 
the beauty of that sweet mouth. Even 
the loose-flowing gown seemed to have 
lost its easy grace, and stiffened into 
splendid and haughty folds, fit only 
for the form of some grand old Dame 
proud of her beauty and proud of her 
ancient coronet. The very lace about 
her slender throat—but a misty web 
of dainty and intricate work—seemed 
to have crystallized and whitened, as 
if done with a sharp and skillful chis¬ 
el. The pale, pinky tinge about the 
perfect little ear had deepened into a 
more rosy hue, which had overspread 


XII 




t 


with Hope in his heart; but some¬ 
thing else had crowded into his heart, 
and it was—Doubt. He went on his 
way and about his duty with this one 
hopeful thought: “The nightfall will 
bring a change, and the Shadow will 
have gone.'’ But each day the Shad¬ 
ow deepened, and the Youth carried 
with him a more troubled and a less 
hopeful heart. All those who saw the 
Picture, and who had seen it when 
first it came, now looked upon it with 
painful surprise, and unhesitatingly 
said, “ Your pretty-faced girl over the 
mantel yonder is undoubtedly going 
to say, No." 

Into the soft, dark eye there seemed 


XI 


jff'£fI h [ I ;tmufi l>> ks> b $xi i o f ft i 
■or: yiij ai [tjj j j to >,, j ,,i|} i, 0 ;i 
■ fJtrBrd adj rii ion . fb 5;: : i 

;>i mfiJsi T.uncnjH iisab >M bib 10V1 
lii : ,n< ul ui'~. sift V> 3 / 1 . nab.'jci 4 

: 11 Ztafesu .Ait 97 bI 00 } )o 
fT-tuo / nil irsi* r n\fjT^o Joq ai5 [ 

r< \. (IB ■, / Cpis <ii ! iud .dooOt 

: rlt n rob Jrrjv; srl a: So up ggoi ol.-m 
srfnije^/k .vjs’> jrlHc yjoil aid o: ' 

. 7 / >fofj.7j qor a tobwc/.D ofli. vd b: ->i>\ 
-loo 1n&o;,v jdi yjUft ojsri h o>*;L il 
bib O' bin- t 5‘)* ioi: o\'. hi v i 

lw til 0jokl Hf 0/0 77 5 i 77 Tfodi 

fi./oT rf: io :{tf/o orb v : : bh o/ ob 



turn of the dead Summer. The light 
fell on the face of the girl in the Pic¬ 
ture, but it did not lift the Shadow. 
Nor did the dead Summer return to 
gladden the heart of the Autumn, full 
of too late and useless regret. “No, 
I am not certain , 51 said the Youth, 
touched with a Doubt. It was only a 
touch, but his step was heavy and a 
trifle less quick, as he went down the 
street to his Duty of the day. Again he 
passed by the crowded shop window. 
The dealer had filled the vacant cor- 
nerj but he did not see, and he did 
not care to see, what was there. For 
there was now only one picture in all 
the world for this Youth of the Town 


X 






























































are wrong!” Then vaguely and al¬ 
most inaudibly, “She is going to say, 
No;” with his own voice he made effort 
to drown the words of that fateful re¬ 
frain. “ It is the idle, spiteful chatter 
of some evil spirit. My heart is full 
of Hope, and I will not believe it.” 
But that night, alone with his book 
and the face over the fire, only embers 
on the hearth —the Shadow was still 
there . But he said that it was a wild 
and troubled fancy—“It is not, can 
not be an actual Shadow; women may 
change, but surely not pictures.” 

The next day Autumn repented of 
its wanton folly, and called out with 
Sunshine and Brightness for the re- 


IX 


dirw „>fcb aril bsbfc ,<ns: tt,o;if* > 
:>d.» nu' U. bo f. t; ,r .voi ; wjn < . > n 

gniwBol f oao§ 8£7^ bdfjB—buorrr io *//r-* 
.n^v* o;j: , i , r , mi// -,ri 

>£'•) i-rn .iJu/ •• b *io o-i f> te ifi 3 ! F 
dmo/I or f n) bowo!^ n 

lo oor.t or' no ’ n/'h£(i£ ,i\ ^01 < { \x 
im& ; 3 iujjii *rii n: h■ 9 \rtjrtq s/H 
.00 mb r jew oiaFt laornom tjsrfa 
odt mon -'/obsHr £ vfno ar >i iuH*' 
odj <0 rHuuV T >i ) bijse walg liigibsift 
-airlw Jiidii v ..^nrhornoa Ju I no': 
gfiro.o i or jgroiv/ 0*1 £ r/oY " ooioq 

’. 0 /[ e’/Ba 0 ) 

-}£ ■■;). dnow orl; rtr;v:.>£ Foe trinyJ 
e y['?o-ib>'b ions \ ieoI * .eavloamarlt b > 
;• iv r • n f g 1 ■ ■ r/f n. u< . ' ■ 




HIV 




delicate face, gilded the dark hair with 
a deep russet brown, played about the 
sweet mouth—and was gone, leaving 
her with answer yet ungiven. 

The first fire of the Autumn crack¬ 
led and glowed on the tiled hearth, 
and threw a Shadow on the face of 
the pretty girl in the Picture; and 
from that moment there was a change. 
“ But it is only a Shadow from the 
fire-light glow,” said the Youth of the 
Town. But something within whis¬ 
pered, “You are wrong; she is going 
to say, No.” 

Again and again the words repeat¬ 
ed themselves, clearly and distinctly, 
“You are wrong! you are wrong! you 


VIII 


i ' j- '{1 oil- r 7 nvs te d\> • , ri d 

ri avjr.vjs Jon Jucl in'itiiwod 
.jiuij'rl orh )o /bfij Y rr eirff 

>-'j g£ y'(bi: tulagliJSrfo f. ]):•*: 3ii r JW 

T c >f £8 Gfi-fS Or'/• fIT .11 - , / Ol? 

30filq J !j tl JVip P.B :'f 012 Jtflf* ■ ori 

f HjjdY gidj lo i lod ntt nr *io n >d i i 
jj?68 ; ir> ,hi >d a ({ , i oqo]; i ! :;w 
hi a njd «i aisrf’l w ,bto:>oj 
v \ j£; J bus c o>L>m oi 1 { lo! r/JiJit: 

.83Y «er * > -gafi 

. UK ,i>lo %if ab.) ■ • .: ■[ H 
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J/ljjif iac • r aflT .ygafcrb jjc a J/iguoid 
hi; !d> 1£3::> erd no iiJ\ ;1> ;i;»v lo 







chimney-piece setting of ebony and 
old cherry. 

She was always pretty, sometimes 
beautiful, but not always the same, 
this my Lady of the Picture. She 
was indeed a changeful Lady, as the 
story will tell. Those who saw her 
face when first she was given the place 
of honor in the home of this Youth, 
with Hope in his heart, all said, and 
with one accord, “There is but one 
answer for her to make, and that one 
answer is, Yes.” 

The Easter-tide growing old, and 
the Summer time new and beautiful, 
brought no change. The last light 
of each day fell on the clear-cut and 


VII 


—'ftat'Jogldl 2F// Jto ■ *)(\ 10 VI: 'i ‘ 

JiUfoi * 5 -nr 

jfiuoiTi >!'f • 32*11 13 7 ? orh or) *>rft 

sdj > f[)uo f;rjl fb^.rrr /on j j r 702 *r > 
blue VI ATgfI£ f‘3f! JTolbd IV/' '7 V ){• 

J rtBD i.'l b r '.'V] -,7/ : t ;’b 

2'r;9[ »i; 1 tei J o * iu^^J hrli no 
bv> : t viobd ojorHiv "obedd! ,77' 

Jrigiri sri o.tni {17; 
oi r rnuh) nl .rlfir / 

or I 2irfi i 9 *Jt>$T jrl 2 xvrtfi L ic ; on • i 
• Jrjo n 0:t Yir;S 90 1; v a; i a 




Light grew his heavy task, and the 
drudgery of his work was forgotten— 
he was haunted by the sight of that 
face in the Picture. The softness of 
the eye, the sweetness of the mouth, 
or something, made the Youth of the 
noisy 1 own believe her answer would 
surely be —Yes. 

Now the Youth and the Afternoon 
Shadows together came and feasted 
on the beauty of that Maiden’s face. 
1 he Shadows, without booty, fled 
away into the night. But not so with 
the Youth. In triumph he brought 
it to the favored room of his own dear 
home; and always thereafter this Pic- 
- ture gleamed in beauty from out its 


V! 


.TtulDiq 6'i 1 «£*/•' >’ n)iK> ’i. ; 

ao ffolif'.h bfirl ■Jr>te / iii j-'IT 

oft v> ,<js ' ’ iisw s^fe '•sH 

j firi * ao- >no >rn£'u s 

grtffii 'Uhfig i-*a£ o ,'•?):• £ 

H£5i*i >ir( vcjo * I n:iw f *' 1 


V 


most red, having found themselves so 
unexpectedly brought into the pres¬ 
ence of this pretty girl. 

This, in outline, was the picture. 
The dealer had written on a slip of 
paper, in large, rude letters, 


Her ai^sWer: or J7o. 

It was a frameless crayon, thrust 
aside and somewhat overshadowed by 
a huge and garish thing in gaudy- 
flowered gilt, which easily caught and 
held the eye of the busy throng. 

The Youth passed on to his duty 
of the day with Hope in his heart. 




V 


* ji n 'i ; be rom fan* ,n3doicl 

itK'ii fifi’r vitaoo 6 jsibcb moil o bv h 
o'. >o) ' 3rd bdltto’rr brrn^i >b ;. tb 
,f ■ iog )- ■»Wi mst )g Gfif£*! t.ioion£ hb ;i ji 

edt -3 sm r trne! I srno? ' , enoh 

>nuo*fj. l ^irii He bnoveH 
-sb bn/i , ooo r ',c t nee*rq vv/ol crb 1 > 
fcasbaqs e.it'it >r; /3'dct orb nO .euobil 
,1 <u . ^jniq o*n*>q *iEob edi has r e 
to - >n / ton ;gi 3 woft;'to'donud s 
£ tod v b>:^qqo bn a tn jqo ►amojold 
1 mr> -y$a Sulist - bio ,t nn ribui 7/St 
-to ie.it ot piirr :j( id Jeev/<s gni yyyrA& 




ing, supplicating; with arrows new, 
broken, and mended; with quivers 
full, depleted, and empty. The great, 
broad shelf above her pretty head was 
laden with rare and artistic treasures. 
A vase from India; a costly fan from 
China; a dark and mottled bit of color 
in an ancient frame of tarnished gold, 
done by some Flemish master of the 
long-ago. Beyond all this, a ground 
of shadowy green, pale, cool, and de¬ 
licious. On the table, near the spotless 
page and the dear pen-clasping hand, 
a bunch of flowers; not a mass of ugly 
blooms, opulent and oppressive, but a 
few garden roses, old - fashioned and 
exceeding sweet, blushing to their ut- 


IV 


n- *> ) >Y 010 :') i Ti 1 > > ! ‘ 

• Ji ‘ d . h‘j?,s£q : r q< q srhO 
rri -xi >H riiiw nwoT orf 1 “o ifjoc / 
'' ■' i f J:> oif • T. fO 33 tiiSl .\jv , : ri 

>/b noq j b-H.ooi i&ifi 
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05? H E RE was a colored crayon 
in a crowded shop - window. 
Other people passed it by, but a 
Youth of the Town, with Hope in 
his heart, leaned over the guard-rail 
and looked upon the beauty of that 
pictured face long and earnestly. 

It was the head of a pretty girl with 
dark hair and dark eyes. She was 
clad in a dainty white gown, loose¬ 
flowing and beautiful. In her left 
hand, slender and uplifted, a letter; 
in her right a pen, and beneath it a 
spotless page. 

She was seated within the shadow 
of a white marble chimney-piece richly 
carved with Cupids, fluttering, kneel- 


“0tear- imj £e&, Hr ere, Itaw^ a Picture jeiuef> 
covH^> trot - Gutj j^om me.' 


]1g for rqy L>ctcfy iio 





Sv| Douglass Slperlev| 





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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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